Echoes
by Lady Angel
Summary: On the eve of being rescued, a stranded Han Solo looks back over his sojourn. Crossover. PG for language.


itle: Echoes  
Author: Angel  
E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com  
URL: http://www.geocities.com/lady_aethelynde  
  
Rating: PG for language  
Summary: AU. A stranded Han spends the night before his  
rescue listening to the echoes of his past lives  
Type: Vignette  
  
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd be off this rock  
so fast it would make your head swim. As it is, I own  
nothing except an expired passport, a handleless skillet  
and an option on a case and a half of A&W from Priceline.  
Star Wars and Indiana Jones are the property iof George Lucas.  
The Maltese Falcon blongs to Dash Hammett. Witness and  
Six Days, Seven Nights are property of the Studios. Gone with the Wind  
is property of the Margaret Mitchell estate.  
  
Acknowledgements: This is for my daughter, Victoria,  
who is on a Harrison Ford movie binge.  
  
Notes: I tried, but I couldn't work _Blade Runner_ in.  
  
Feedback: I crave it. It's my favorite high.  
  
*****  
Echoes  
c 2000 Angelia Sparrow  
*****  
  
Somewhere in the Carolina Swamps.  
  
The trees here are ancient. Most have survived everything. I know.  
A hundred and fifty orbits ago, I planted an emergency beacon in one.  
That's too damn long to be stuck on one planet, even one with  
as short an orbit as this has.  
  
I've had to reinvent my life about every thirty years. I age a lot  
slower than these humans do, about one year to every five of theirs.  
I found this out in the 19th century. The late 20th was murder, with  
computers everywhere. Almost as much fun as back home.  
  
I scratch the bubble where the homing transmitter is implanted under the  
skin of my arm, as I have every night for the last 54,642 nights.  
I have a lot of time out here in the swamp, so I figured it up.  
  
The comlink went off a week ago. Scared the hell out of me. It'd been  
quiet for so long I'd given up. The voice I'd been   
living to hear came through faint and crackly.  
  
"Han, are you there? Have we found you?"  
  
Luke never sounded so good. Even with an edge of  
desperation in his voice, he sounded like home, and rescue  
and everything.  
  
"You found me, Luke. Now get me off this rock!"  
  
We talked very briefly. The warp-rift that had chucked me to the  
far side of the Rim had re-opened and he was coming after me. I had  
to get back to the emergency beacon. I sold the DeHavilland and  
flew back to the United States.  
  
Now, I'm camped, in this sith-forsaken swamp, with a fire,  
and the com is going again, echoing off the trees around me.  
  
"Han, do you read me?"  
  
"Loud and clear, kid. When are you gonna quit  
foolin' around and get here?"  
  
"Tomorrow, dawn. We're trying not to set off the  
defensive systems of the planet."  
  
"See you then."  
  
I pull the pack a little closer. Not much to show for  
a century and a half. But it's all I'm taking back.  
I'm too excited to sleep tonight. Tomorrow,  
I'll be back in my own bunk, in my own ship.  
  
There have been substitutes, but none have been my lady.  
I pull the compass out of the top of the pack. This was the latest.  
A DeHavilland Beaver is a sweet little craft, for an  
atmospheric machine. I'd take it over an old T-16 skyhopper any day.  
Shame I can't take the _Spitfire_ when I go. I sold her  
to Francois. He'll treat her right. She's back on  
Maneteka. I can't believe I still have that silly   
magazine the editor left with me. Leia may find it  
amusing to know what the earthwomen worry about.  
  
Is Leia still waiting for me to come home?  
And how am I going to break the fact I've been  
married twice while I've been away? I wonder how long I've been gone?  
Has it been 30 years as it looks on my face?  
Have I been missing a week, a month, how long?  
I hope Leia waited. The ring she gave me on our wedding day  
is at the very bottom of the pack, in a safebox. It  
doesn't fit anymore. I've gained weight. I wonder  
what she'll think of the grey hair.  
  
The next thing is the Bible Rachel gave me for our wedding anniversary.  
I have a story marked that only Luke and Chewie get to hear.  
It's a legend about a tribal leader named Jacob  
who marries a pair of sisters: Rachel and Leah. They  
should find it amusing. I don't think I'll tell anyone  
the one about the king who watches the woman bathe on  
her rooftop. That's Rachel's memory and mine. Leia may like  
some of the poetry. Amazing what the shepherds come  
up with when they're bored.  
  
I miss Rachel. She's a widow again, so she believes. She lives  
simply off of "John Book's" life insurance and police  
benefits. Samuel's in college. They gave up so much for me.  
She was shunned for marrying an English. I loved her.  
I loved all of them through the years, all dark haired and  
sharp tongued. None of them my true wife. A picture of the Book family  
falls out. This was the year before I "died." Samuel  
is a slight sixteen year old. I'd just taught him to  
drive. We went out for dinner to celebrate and  
had the photo made at a store on a whim. I set the book and picture  
aside carefully. I've kept tabs on her in the five years  
since the end of my life as Book. But keeping tabs isn't like being there.  
I miss her.  
  
A little deeper is a gold and jewelled falcon. The  
irony is not lost on me as I set it aside.  
  
The coiled bullwhip is still well seasoned. The fedora's in my tent.  
I wish hats were still fashionable for men. I'll   
probably never wear it again. But it went so many places,  
I can't bear to leave it behind. Actually, I think I'll  
wear it when they pick me up. I never kept any of the big treasures  
I found. I only kept things that meant something. I'm  
not sure I can explain the tulle rose to anyone.  
  
It's yellow with age, almost seventy years since she wore it,  
and fragile. Tulle isn't made to survive sand,  
snakes, sea water and mummies. That was a real adventure. Marion died  
about twenty years ago, ancient and senile. She never knew  
I was visiting her at the end. She should have been  
a Corellian. That woman could out-drink, out-fight and  
out-swear me. I wish they'd rescued me seventy years ago.  
I'd loved to have taught her to fly. And who knows,  
maybe she'd have fallen for Luke.  
  
I handle the plass bag carefully, so as not to crush it.  
  
Deeper into the well of memories by flickering firelight,  
I dig. The echoes of the past are dinning in my ears.  
The adventures, the women, the voices.  
  
At the bottom is the lockbox. I turn the combination  
lock. Two rings glint in the firelight. One a simple band with   
a starburst. Mine. The other a woman's ring. A huge diamond  
surrounded by emeralds. Vulgar really. It cost  
a hundred thousand pounds in the 1860's. Today it would be  
worth several millions. I had it made special, and  
out of spite. I was wealthy enough to do it. Blockade   
running and gambling paid well in those rough days. Scarlett loved   
the ring, and the money. But never me.  
  
That was a woman! She could get madder faster and stay madder long than  
almost anyone I ever met. Almost. Her only competition  
in that department gave me the starburst ring.  
  
And what trick of fate maneuvered us into the same conversation?  
As soon as she pouted that she wouldn't kiss me for that silly  
bonnet, I found myself saying the same  
words.  
  
"You should be kissed, and by someone who knows how."  
  
The Georgia afternoon heat mingled with the remembered  
chill of the Echo Base as she said "And I suppose you're the proper person?"  
  
Swept by the echoes, I told her "Yeah, but it wouldn't be much fun."  
Were the eyes so close to mine green or brown? The hair was still dark.  
  
"I'd rather kiss a pig."  
  
I managed a flip remark about Irish and their pigs, recalling a similar one  
about Wookiees.   
  
Scarlett's been dead since the Great War. The prospect of another  
war was too much for her failing heart. Our life was tumultuous,  
and more of a running battle than Leia and I ever had. Ashley didn't  
help matters. He was so much like Luke, an idealist. The same  
fragility Luke had after Endor had shattered inside of him.  
Primitive wars are always more brutal. And all Scarlett  
ever saw of him was the sun on golden hair, the slim hands  
and the smooth motions. It was that bad moment on Endor  
all over again, but without any mitigating circumstances.  
And it didn't last two days, but years.  
  
Echoes are gettin' louder. I don't know if I want to listen   
to any more. The sky to the east is starting to grey.  
I carefully pack my life on Earth into the backpack.  
I dowse the fire, and retrieve my hat. The tent has nothing   
else for me, just a sleeping bag and food concentrates.   
On second thought, I take the food. You never know with   
the Falcon's foodsynth. Everything else can stay here   
for the elements or a needy hiker.  
  
A hum throbs through the morning air.  
Loud. Only one engine sounds like that.  
The lady is beautiful coming down out of the sun,  
retros firing as she settles on the triangle  
of landing gear.  
  
The ramp comes down and I sling the pack on  
one should and tip the hat onto my head.  
It feels like an old friend. I saunter  
to the ship, as if I'd only been gone for an afternoon.  
  
Chewbacca is waiting, his pelt lighter with age,  
but only a little. He grabs me.  
  
"Pal, pal! Lemme breathe." Slobbery wookiee kisses  
on each cheek are an experience.  
  
And there's Luke. Older, but not much. He looks at peace,  
finally. He hugs me, crushing the same ribs Chewie just pulverized.  
I've missed him.   
  
"Did you fly this crate all the way across the galaxy   
by yourself, kid?" I ask.  
  
"Not quite, hotshot," says the voice I've missed the most.  
  
I'm up the ramp, and there she stands. The real one,  
of whom all the other sharp-tongued, dark-haired women   
have been pale reflections. She's showing  
silver threads among the chestnut, but she's still  
gorgeous.  
  
I kiss her, and it is worth every minute of the   
time I've spent exiled. Chewie and Luke   
are running preflight.  
  
I go forward to take one last look at the world  
I called home for so long. I was a lot of things there:  
gambler, smuggler, prospector, teacher, adventurer, cop.  
The pack still on my back holds six lives.  
I'm glad to get back to my own.  
  
"You lost your ring." Leia's voice is sad.  
  
"No, sweetheart. I just need it resized."  
She feels right curled into my side as the   
blue-green ball drops away. She reaches up and  
tugs at the brim of my hat.  
  
"I like it. Definite scoundrel."  
  
I am home.  
  



End file.
